Chuck vs La Republica Libra
by Doc in Oz
Summary: Team Chuck sent to the Caribbean. Can Sarah quell a revolution with a fork? Not this time, but keep out of her way when she's got THAT look in her eyes. Set early season 4.
1. The Mission Briefing

**A.N.** I'm trying my hand at season 4.

Originally I outlined this during season 2, and then we watched 4.04 – Chuck vs the Coup d'état.

I started this, weeks before 4.04.

Honest.

Then the writers sent Chuck to Costa Gravas, and included the bikini scene (thank you for that by the way, much better than I had in mind).

This is my second attempt at a multi chapter story. Still amazed how many people read my first one. Or any of them.

This is my Chuck version of Gavin Lyall's Shooting Script (i.e. I don't have an original idea of my own).

I hope you enjoy bits of it.

* * *

I don't own Chuck et al.

* * *

**1. The Mission Briefing**

Chuck was lounging at the Nerd Herd desk debating the finer point of _The Picard Manoeuvre_ with Morgan.

The new store manager was a big picture guy, but he could miss the minutia.

"But if they aim at where the Enterprise is going to be…"

"That's just it Chuck, how do they know."

"A stable warp field has a minimum….."

Lester oozed into view. "Charles, I just want to thank you. Burbank is now the smokingest, hottes …"

Jeff interrupted with "Fro Yo Ho alert."

Then one of his eyes closed and opened in a slo-mo wink for some reason. One day Chuck would have to explain to Jeff that Sarah didn't work at the Orange squared anymore. Or that the Orange Orange was now a Subway franchise. One that the Jeffster frequented.

Or had he already done that? You tend to blot out Jeff conversations.

Anyhoo….

Sarah.

As always, she picked him out in a heartbeat. Smiled, and walked straight towards him.

Chuck began to experience Sarah Mode. The Universe contracted down to just her. All else was monochrome and well, just uninteresting.

Sarah was ….. radiant. His pulse began to race. Time slowed to a crawl. And for some reason, there was this invisible wind machine blowing her blond hair seductively.

Chuck didn't know why they kept an invisible wind machine at the front of the store, but he was really grateful that it was there. It was kind of like that teen vampire film Ellie had played (again, and again, and again), her scent was his own personal Kryptonite.

Her smile grew larger as she reached him. Nerd tie to pull him in close, and her lips pressed into his, parted just ….. enough. As usual, time stopped. She was his whole world.

Eventually, something burbled out of his struggling frontal cortex. "Hi." Only about an octave higher than normal. See, he was getting better.

She was able to shut it down again by leaning in close to whisper in the most seductive breath on Earth "We have a meeting. Castle."

And she leant back to judge her effect on him.

She smiled. God she loved it when he did that. And dragged him off using the tie she still held. A shy smile for the drooling Herders.

Through the store to the staff break room. She held the door open for him with her heart stopping smile. And into the secret labyrinth that was Castle.

Chuck loved it down here. Except for General Beckman, it was about as close as he could get to being on the bridge of the starship Enterprise. Any of them.

Casey was here already. It was his Buy More day off.

The conference screen came to life. The General began "We've received chatter that Volkoff is stepping up operations in the Caribbean, using the small nation of Republica Libra. This has implications for the whole region, not to mention the U.S."

Chuck flashed on some of the data concerning the nation's ruling military triumvirate. "We can forget about the Navy. The real players are the Army and Air Force Generals. Both arms have just been beefed up with some new toys. I'm guessing that Volkoff financed this?"

"Yes, Chuck. Your mission is shut down this operation. You and Sarah will go in as a wealthy software designer and his trophy wife. Colonel, you will be Chuck's 'bodyguard.'" That caused a spasm to cross Chuck's face.

The same spasm stayed frozen on Casey's face. The General proceeded with more details needed for the mission.

Beckman finished with "The Carmichaels are going to Jamaica" and signed off with her usual courteous method of pushing the button to cut off any further communications.

* * *

Chuck said in a voice of wonder "Jamaica."

Sarah turned to Chuck with a secret smile "Nah. She went by herself."

Chuck paused in amazement.

"Sarah Walker. Was that … a ….. joke I just heard?"

"What can I say Chuck. Almost three years of fake dating, and eight months of the real thing, you're rubbing off on me." She beamed.

Casey said one word that effectively ended the briefing.

When they re-emerged upstairs, Chuck asked "Sarah, why would Casey want peanut butter?"

Sarah's face flickered through about fourteen expressions, all of them unreadable. Settled on Agent Mode.

Pity.

"Shut up Chuck."

"Oh, is that a code word? Like Pine…. I mean, the fruit that dare not speak it's n…."

She silenced him by standing on tip toe, grabbing his hair and kissing him. Her body then melted against his with a mind of its own.

As usual, it lasted both longer than it should, and way shorter than needed.

"Wzzzagxssphxxx" was his articulate reply.

She separated from him slightly, and then pulled back and gazed at his face.

"Uh huh." Was the best he could manage.

"OK, see you at home." A final kiss (simple peck, couldn't do any harm. Right?), and then back down to Castle.

Shame he had to cover the desk today, Sarah felt sure the supply cupboard needed inventory…..

Chuck re-entered the store. A little warm, but not at all astonished. Morgan spotted his best buddy straight away.

"Hey, buddy. What did Sarah want? Oh, a mission. Right. Where to this time, St Tropez? The Azores?"

Chuck replied "Jamaica…..and don't. Sarah's already done that joke."

Pause. Let that sink in…..

Annnnnd, here it comes…

"Your hot, leggy Valkyrie with an aversion to clothing…..told…..a…..joke?"

They both uttered the wistful, sighing "Yeah…"

And then a happy thought. If they were in the Caribbean, on an island, does that mean Sarah would be wearing a bikin… swimwear?

He tried to stop his rebellious mind from now viewing Sarah in a bikini. He tried poorly. Even just watching her walk away from him was mesmerising.

Red. Part of his rebellious mind hoped it would be a red bikin…

Big Mike pointed out "Bartowski! You're drooling."

* * *

Sarah almost giggled once they got home, sitting with a bounce on their bed. "Thank God you decided to….make sure the supply cupboard was…full. I love that you are so thoughtful" she smiled up at him. "And I most definitely love you."

He gazed down at the most beautiful woman he'd ever know. "Mmmmmmm" he channelled the monster from _Young Frankenstein_. And leant over her.

"Again? Oh, God. You're incorrigible…. Oh" as she pulled him down into bed with her. 

* * *

**A.N.** The articulate reply is an Asterix and Obelix ref (and a tip 'o the hat to Getafx).

Any fans of Kipling out there? "A little warm, but not at all astonished."

Anyone? Anyone? (Bueller? Bueller? – sorry got a little side tracked there…. anyhoo)

Kipling. Oh yes, How The Elephant Got His Trunk.


	2. The Carmichaels

**A.N.** Um, wow. I've got more alerts on this one chapter, than all my other stories. Thank you.

Or, maybe I just posted on a slow day…..

If you are expecting similar quality, well….bwahhaahha

* * *

I still hope you like bits of this.

I don't own Chuck et al.

* * *

Previously on Chuck vs La Republica….

_Chuck said in a voice of wonder "Jamaica."_

_Sarah turned to Chuck with a secret smile "Nah. She went by herself."  
_

* * *

**2. The Carmichaels**

In the morning, Sarah was going through Chuck's clothes. He goggled slightly when she bent over to delve into the lower draws.

"Hi ho. Morning honey. Love what you've done with your hair."

"Chuuuuuuck."

But her megawatt 'Chuck special' smile beamed into the open draw "I've started packing." As she turned to face him. He had serious, and delicious, 'bed head.'

Three years ago, the thought of Sarah ratting through his underwear draw would have had Chuck spluttering.

And then, _for the cover_, she slept over. The first time was painful. Their first fight, if their relationship was remotely real.

_Although, not long after we _did _share our first kiss._

The second time was a choice slice of hell, too. For a very different reason. _Those little pink pants_. After that, they'd established a routine. It had almost been comfortable.

And when Chuck had discovered the surveillance in his room, the _other_ things he used to keep in the draws had all been thrown out.

After that, Chuck lived like a monk. For a long, _long_ time.

Well, a monk that had Sarah sleep in his room sometimes.

This same Sarah, who was currently wearing his old _2001- A Space Odyssey_ (special anniversary edition, the one with the scene of Pod 'B' emerging from Discov..._never mind_) tee shirt, _and_ not much else that he could see.

He didn't miss those days at all.

The flight was commercial. Booked to leave LAX a 10:55. Chuck and Sarah met with Casey at Castle. There was a lot of new, expensive (suitable for a software multi-millionaire) clothes in Castle now. Sarah had been doing a little shopping for Chuck. He looked good in a suit. Or tux. And she made sure his shirts complimented her outfits.

Business class. Nice. Sandwiched – as sandwiched as you get in business class - between Casey (aisle seat) and Sarah. Had its plusses and minuses.

Somewhere over the Grand Canyon, Sarah got Chuck to open up his laptop. "Mission specs" she answered his puzzled face.

She got him to open up an on-line fan fiction site for TV shows. Chuck discovered he had a log-on already existing. Sarah navigated him to one of the stories listed in 'his' favourites.

The thing read like a weird nerd/spy porno. Probably weapons listed. Passwords. Contact names. Assets. Codes. James Bond stuff. There was a revolution brewing against the triumvirate. A former El Presidente wanted back in.

Whoever wrote this, couldn't really write. But he (or she, or more likely, they) had a funny turn of phrase. Bits of it were good. Part of him wanted to check out the other stories listed on the site.

Chuck had been on missions with less information. It was distracting to share the screen with Sarah. She leant into his shoulder, her hair in his vision, her scent in his nostrils. She read a lot quicker than he did. Chuck always thought he read pretty quickly, but Sarah left him for dust.

Aside from having Sarah sit beside him, her skin _just_ grazing his for several hours, nothing much happened. Chuck got to check out legit stories on the site, finding the _Stargate Atlantis_,_ Firefly_ and _Castle_ listings. On the whole, better than he should expect. They certainly beat Sturgeon's Law out of the water.

The flight landed at Kingston late in the day. Once they cleared customs (traveling as civilians, not wanting to alert any one by using diplomatic status), they got to the groundside of the airport. A limo was waiting for them. Passwords confirmed it was their ride.

Chuck and Sarah rode in the back. Casey up front, like a good body guard.

"It's good to be the king." Quoted Chuck. She thumped him on the arm in a painful, but good natured way.

They drove for quite a while. Ended up at some place called Shaw Park Ocean Club.

The Carmichael's signed in to one of the villas. Chuck handed over a black AMEX card that felt very thick. He tried not to shudder at the rates. The villa came with its own car.

They drove the rental to the villa, it had a name in Spanish. _Ojo de Oro_.

Sarah had what Chuck could only describe as 'a cheeky smile' when she saw the name. That piqued his curiosity.

They swept the villa for bugs. Nothing active.

Somehow, there were two extra cases when they brought the luggage in. Ah, those would be the weapons. Casey practically caressed the fire arms. Chuck contemplated warning Casey he was about to start drooling. Wisely, he thought better of it.

Casey picked one of the single bed rooms.

Dinner was called for in the mission outline. Chuck was putting his jacket on when Sarah took the task over. Brushing imaginary lint off his lapel and shoulders, she then straightened his tie. A quick kiss, and she returned to her handbag, and Chuck picked the brochures off the table.

"Hey Sarah, did you know Ian Flemming used to live around here…..?" his voice trailed off. You couldn't live in Los Angeles without knowing _some_ Spanish. It hit him. "Ojo de Oro. That would be ….. Golden Eye…. wouldn't it?"

"Mm hmm." The unseen smile came through her voice.

"And you knew from the name of the villa, didn't you."

"So, Chuck, you're not a completely hopeless spy after all"

* * *

Ear pieces in, they went to dinner.

All eyes turned to Sarah when they entered the restaurant. Chuck knew what they were gazing at.

Sarah.

She wore the blue dress well. Simple. Elegant. Stunning.

They sat.

Once, Chuck would have been a little daunted with the lay-out on the table. Too much cutlery for a boy from Encino.

_On their first mission in a fancy restaurant, Sarah had spotted his discomfort. Quietly, she'd advised him "Start at the outside, work your way in."_

They ordered. Sarah said _sotto voice_ "Keep your eyes open for our target."

While waiting for their food, they talked. Just talked. That was rare.

Sarah kept touching him during the conversation. She was a good listener. It helped that Chuck had her full attention. He always had. Oh, sure she was aware of her surroundings, but for an agent? She was focused on Chuck.

Just as the steaks arrived, Casey (nursing a Red Stripe for a very long time) alerted them "Heads up, target seen."

Diego Ingles. Smooth would best describe him. Came from money. Old money. It showed. Chuck felt like he was wearing a borrowed tee-shirt compared to Ingles.

Chuck flashed. "OK, we've got a file on him. Known supporter of Jimminez. Not much else. Not political. Seems to have a lot of lady friends."

Sarah confirmed "Jimminez. Let's hope his revolution will be useful."

Flash. "Ow. Don't do that."

Sarah poked her tongue out at him. They grinned. Sarah got up to contact Ingles.

Ingles was very friendly to Sarah. Chuck stifled his reaction.

Sarah brought him back to the table. He spoke English with barely a trace of accent.

"So you are here to help with our little problem?"

"My husband wants to….see what his competition is doing in the region. We don't want to upset anyone, but he is interested in doing business there."

"Will you help?"

Sarah decided to speak plainly, "Nothing official. Officially, we don't really care who is in power, but the puppet masters behind the scenes, those we do care about. We need to see for ourselves."

"Ah, traveling to the Republica. There are still regular flights, but I'm assuming ….."

"Oh, we will make our own way there."

"Perhaps I am unfamiliar with how revolutions….."

"This is a business trip, with a little holiday mixed in. If there was a risk of revolution, well, that would be bad for our holiday" Sarah glanced at Chuck during the last word.

Ingles left, passing over details of his 'cousin' living in Santo Bartolomeo. Chuck tried to swallow his smile at the thought of _El Barto_ tagged across the city.

Other than that, dinner was…..nice. The steaks were perfectly done, the sauces (mushroom for Sarah, Chuck had the pepper) were just right. Sarah was….well, Sarah. The conversation changed to mission possibilities. Casey kept his two cents worth going every once in a while over the coms. The original outline called for a recon to the Republica first. Weapons would the issue if they travelled commercially.

On the other hand, Ingles' 'cousin' was supposed to be able to assist with that. Casey really didn't like the idea of going in without some sort of firearm. That meant a boat, or aircraft. Flying would be quicker, but less options landing at the other end. The discussion began to drift off topic. Casey decided that he'd enough for the night.

Chuck realised that Casey hadn't eaten. Casey grunted (slightly amused), and told Chuck that yes, he would get something to eat.

After desert, they passed on the coffee, Chuck and Sarah took their time returning to the villa. Sarah seemed to genuinely want to dawdle with Chuck on the way back. "I've been doing this for years, and it took _you_ to make me see…well, this" as she gestured to the moonlit sea. She hugged his arm and said in a little voice "thanks."

Chuck enveloped her in his arms. He gazed into her eyes, and said "I've crawled through the sewers of Sao Palo, and you know what? With you there, it's almost as romantic as this."

She did the 'one eyebrow' thing.

Chuck sweated.

_Oh, crap._

Then she couldn't stand it any longer, and she broke into a smile. "Nice save there, mister."

The kiss lasted for some time.

They got back. Casey had already checked in with the General, so they added their comments to his. Casey wanted to check out the local airfields for suitable aircraft tomorrow.

* * *

Next morning, they got to Ocho Rios airport late in the day for pilots, but very early in the morning for software millionaires. Even Chuck could see the runway was short. Most of the planes he could see were….

"Crop-dusters" said Casey. There were some private planes mixed in the group tied to a wire in the ground. "That 210 over there, has potential. Was hoping for a Caravan, or a Baron but….."

Chuck couldn't see 'potential' in the other planes. Some had wings on top, some under. They all looked too small, and some looked very old. Chuck hoped the "210" was one of the shinier ones. Still too small.

Chuck forced himself to flash on the light aircraft. OK, now he could see the potential. Still too small.

"OK, that'll do for now." Said Casey. So they left. Back to the Club.

* * *

Sarah explained to Chuck "Casey wants to go tonight. I need to get some exercise." She paused, and then with a smile "Do you want to come with me to the pool?"

She came out of the bedroom wearing a sarong-y thing.

Gulp.

They went to the pool.

Off comes the sarong-y thing. Not a red bikini. White. And small. Very small.

Chuck has gone beyond Gulp.

_Baseball, think about baseball_. Annnnd….. nothing. _For God's sake, man. Something, stop staring._ He thought to himself.

Sarah swims laps. Quite a few actually. Every time she checks on Chuck, his eyes are locked on her. She grins to herself.

After her laps, she got out at the other end. Just so she could walk slowly back to him. Leaving wet footprints in the hot pebble-crete. God love him, at least he'd closed his mouth this time. Then she noticed…

"Chuck! Have you put on any sun screen? I swear, Ellie's gonna kill me if I let you burn." She squeezes out a dollop onto her palms, and then transfers the goop to his face.

Like a five year old, he squints, and squirms. "Chuck." She begins.

Nope.

So, plan B.

She swings a still dripping leg over him, and sits in his lap, facing him. The heft of a very healthy, if damp, Sarah gets his attention. Their eyes lock, as always_. _She grinned at him

Both hands to his face, holding his gaze, she slowly rubs the sunblock to his face. Then his shoulders, upper arms. Then his chest.

He stopped her when she starts to go below his ribcage. She leant in to kiss him, which he enjoyed, but he stopped her hands going any further. She stood up, moved to the sunbed beside him, lay face down on the sun bed, "Do my back?"

He took his time, enjoying the feel of her skin.

Chuck discovered something. Just between her shoulder blades, press _just_ right, and you've just found Commander Data's off switch. She made the most erotic melting sound. _Must remember that one….._

"My legs too, sweetie?"

Chuck worked his way lovingly up her legs. As he rose past the halfway point on her thighs, Sarah hitched her bikini bottoms up about an inch, exposing untanned skin.

_Oh, what the hell._ Thought Chuck, as he ensured the sunscreen went past the edge of the fabric.

Anymore, and he would have to ask Sarah to see if she wanted to help him find a secluded spot nearby.

Perhaps a drink?

She said she wanted whatever he was having. He wasn't certain what drink he got. There were little umbrellas sticking out the tops of them, and it was sweet. And it had oomph. It turned out neither of them really needed a drink, after a few mouthfuls, they both let the drinks warm in the sun.

After a bit, Chuck suggested lunch. Sarah agreed with an endearingly sleepy voice.

After lunch, Sarah suggested they return to the villa. As they would need to rest before sneaking out of the country in a stolen 'plane during the night.

Both showered to wash off the sunscreen. And it turned out while in the shower, she was just a little disappointed he hadn't suggested finding a secluded spot. She made him make it up to her. Twice.

Afterwards, they needed the nap that they were supposed to be having. 

* * *

**A.N.** I have no Spanish at all. Nada. If I got "Ojo de Ora" wrong, blame Google Translation.

Ian Fleming did once live in the area of Shaw Park. I'm lead to believe there is a headland near there that translates to 'Golden Head.'

Oh, hope I'm not teaching Granny to suck eggs here: Sturgeon's Law = 90% of everything is crap.


	3. Republica

I don't own Chuck et al

* * *

Previously on Chuck vs La Republica….

"_Hey Sarah, did you know Ian Flemming used to live around here…..?" Chuck's voice trailed off. "Ojo de Oro. That would be ….. Golden Eye…. wouldn't it?"_

_"That 210 over there, has potential. Was hoping for a Caravan, or a Baron but….."_

* * *

**3. Republica Libra**

Chuck and Sarah got up late in the afternoon. Casey looked like he wanted to make some crack about sleeping in late. The rode into the nearest town, and "borrowed" an old car. What was it with Casey and big old Eighties cars? Thing wallowed like a tank.

Chuck and Sarah made their own way back to the villa, while Casey played with his new car. Sarah got Chuck to stop for take-away burgers on the way back.

Back at the villa, they ate. Very good burgers. Casey came in not long after. He ducked into his room, came back with maps and things. He ate his burgers distractedly while drawing lines on the maps, and making notes.

"Walker, can I get you to double check me on the flight plan?"

_What's this? Casey not sure of himself?_ Thought Chuck. Then he saw Sarah take this seriously. The two spies muttered, and did some math. Sarah got Chuck to go on-line to find various Pilot Handbooks for several different aircraft as well as weather maps for the region. Looking for fuel consumption tables. Weight and balance (whatever those were). They furiously scribbled notes for the plane notes he found.

More muttering. Then Casey hooked a GPS up to his own laptop, and began to enter the plan into the GPS.

Pack light. Well, as light as one can when packing enough fire power to survive a revolution. Rations. Water.

Toilet.

"Casey, I don't think you've got that much authority."

"Moron, it's not like I can pull over and look for a gas station. We'll be in the air for just under four hours. Go to the toilet."

It well after dark when they drove out in the borrowed car. They drove to the airfield.

Night vision gear on, they make their way across the field. Casey picked up a metal stepladder on the way. The first plane they stopped at (one with the wings on top), he climbed the ladder, and used a dipstick to measure the fuel. One side then the other. Whispers to Sarah "Full tanks. Open her up, I'll take the ladder back."

Sarah moved her hands past the lock on the door. Pulled on the handle, and the door popped open.

"Old Jedi mind trick." Chuck muttered to himself. Sarah heard, and grinned.

"These aren't the keys you're looking for." She said, as she leant inside the plane, and began hotwiring it.

"Chuck, I need to use white light here, but I need to keep my night vision, can you tell me what color these are?" as she looked away to protect her vision, and clicked a small torch on.

"This one is red" he indicated. She traced her fingers lightly down his arm, to his fingertips, and left them there. For just a bit longer than needed.

Twice more they did the "red wire/green wire" routine. Chuck asked why so many.

"I've made both magnetos 'live.' Now all we have to do is kick the starter motor over. Simpler than a car, but more steps. Not that many planes get stolen for some reason."

Casey came back. Chuck got the rear seats. Off came the night vision. There were two more seats behind him. The luggage went beside him, and on the rearmost seats. Casey walked around the plane, wiggling the bits that wiggled, got on his hands and knees a few times. Drained fuel into a cup at least twice Chuck could see. Turned the propeller by hand, running his hands along the blades.

Casey took the left seat up front, Sarah the right.

Back at the villa, Chuck had offered his skills, and Sarah pointed out gently no one knew how long he could maintain a skill set from a flash. Casey's version was shorter.

Chuck had the feeling Casey _really_ wanted to get some flight time.

When Casey got in, he sat for a moment, and inhaled. And then a second, deeper breath. After a moment, Sarah caught the ghostly outline of a smile on his face. Chuck noticed the sniffing. He sniffed himself. All he could smell was the long chain monomers of plastics, the electronics, the previous inhabitants and high octane gasoline.

They all put on headphones with mikes built in. A 'click' and a hiss advertised that the intercom was active.

It looked like Casey was taking three quarters of the space available. The cabin was tiny. He began to wake the plane up. Little whirrs and hums began.

Chuck forced a flash, and identified the type of plane. It was a Cessna 210 L Centurion (nominally aspirated) from the later 70s. Chuck was impressed, for its age, it looked newish. A second flash brought up the check lists.

Starting a plane, even a single engine one older than he was, takes a lot longer than the movies make it out to be. There was a lot of fiddling, moving switches and knobs.

"Making noise" said Casey. He did something to the wires Sarah and Chuck had prepared.

Yag yag yag yag ROAR. Casey moved the throttle back to a dull roar.

He let the brakes off, and they began to roll forward. They got to the end of the taxiway. He stopped well short of the runway.

There was more check list. This lot involved the engine. Then they lined up.

Chuck thought the engine was loud before. Now he realised that it had just been amateur hour. It was loud. And fast. Chuck felt more acceleration than he expected push him into the seat.

"V one" and then the world tilted back.

And a moment later "Gear up." Thump. Under Chuck's seat. _I guess that was the 'gear.'_

Definitely more fun than a commercial jet. Scarier, but more fun. _Just look at her face_. Sarah was radiant. And Casey was …..

"Casey, are you ….. smiling?"

"Chuuuuck" warned Sarah, but the sparkle in her eyes showed she shared the moment with Chuck.

It was harder work than Chuck would ever know. Once they were over water, Casey descended and maintained 100 feet above the waves. At night. Sarah called heading changes. Casey flew instruments. Never letting the altitude drift more than 20 feet. Sarah constantly monitored the GPS altitude reading. Four times during the flight, she adjusted the altimeter as the local air pressure changed during the flight.

After about an hour, Casey needed a break. Sarah took over using the other set of controls. After ten minutes, Casey resumed control.

* * *

Way point to way point. Keep outside of Cuban airspace.

Swap controls for ten minutes again.

Bigger changes of direction. Climb. Over land now.

"Got it" says Casey. Turning the plane parallel to the dark runway below.

"Squawk it." Says Casey, and there was a …. empty sound as the radio was activated. The lights on the runway lit up.

Sarah says something like "Bumfish."

"Yeah, got it."

The wheels went down. The whole plane wiggled as they locked into place. "Green." Says Sarah. A hum, as the wing flaps descend. The plane slowed noticeably, and seemed to lean forward. Turn left. Slow more. Another left turn.

Slow even more. Casey fiddled with the levers. Power to idle. The ground drifted up. Casey levelled off, and the plane kissed the runway with barely a noise. They parked and tied the plane down. The engine was making ticking sounds as the hot metal cooled.

They were in La Republica Libra. It was the middle of the night. And in the middle of a revolution.

Chuck immortalised the moment. "Oh, thank God. I'm busting."

* * *

Casey lingered a little on the airfield. There was a WWII bomber that looked a little too new.

"What Casey, didn't you see the Pearl Harbor remake? Thought a war film would be your sort of thing. What was it, the Doolittle mission…. Bomb Tokyo? They actually made some of the bombers…"

"Mitchells" interjected Casey

"…for the film. Thank you. Real ones, that flew. They must have sold some off after the film."

"Awright, let's go" said Casey. And they began the walk to the nearest town. It felt like hours, and the backpacks were heavy, what with Casey packing what felt like fifteen of his favourite rifles. In each backpack.

It was basically a shanty town. Chuck saw at least two roofs made out of what looked like flattened 44 gallon drums. The name of oil companies clearly visible on several sheets.

Casey broke into an old battered pick-up truck. Chuck felt really bad about this.

"Casey, if you borrow something without telling them, that's called stealing. We can't just steal the only thing they own."

Grunt.

Sarah tried to rationalise it with Chuck, and even made a promise to ensure the truck was returned.

Chuck wasn't particularly happy about it. He kept quiet for Sarah's sake.

In his defence, Casey didn't like stealing from the poor either. And he'd already decided to return the truck if he could. Or better, see if he could get the CIA to rig a lottery win for the owner. Nothing big, but enough to replace the truck. Maybe enough for one less than thirty years old.

They drove off down the road to Santo Bartolomeo. This was a dirt poor country. As day began, the locals emerged. The kids wore little more than rags, and bare feet.

On the outskirts of the city, they parked the truck on a side street. Hid their packs and went into town.

It was obvious the locals knew there was trouble brewing. The local Army had set up road blocks. The team quietly made their way around them.

The power supply fluctuated often.

They found a coffee shop for breakfast. Casey had a stash of the local money. From what Chuck could see, breakfast seemed to cost a lot.

They waited until about eight, local time, and tried to call Luiz Monterrey, the 'cousin' they'd been referred to. It took three goes, and the signal kept dropping out.

* * *

They met up with Monterrey.

Again, he was old money. He had aged well. Tall and slim, a salt-and-pepper moustache. To Chuck, he looked like he should have played the aristocrat in a Zorro remake.

Monterrey refused to speak to them at first, and certainly not in his home. They met on a street corner some distance away.

Monterrey told them "Jimminez and I went to school, and then university together. He was always going to be a leader. He won the first free election this country in fifteen years. His reforms upset…some factions here. The military, obviously seeing as they lost power to him, as well as the bureaucracy. The upper end of the civil servants had made themselves wealthy. Then there were the foreign investors." He finished with an elegant shrug.

"When the military staged a revolution, at first it was back to normal. Normal for my country. Lately, though it has changed. The Air Force especially has purchased these new jets from your government. A new agency" distain dripped from the word "has become more aggressive. Both in this country, and in the surrounding nations. Never before have we had a…secret police."

Sarah asked "Are these police aware of your connection to Jimminez?"

"It is difficult to be certain, but I believe so, and behave accordingly."

"So how can you help us?" Casey asked.

"I hear things. You must understand, this is not a rag-tag revolution with peasants waving pitchforks and machetes. There is interest from….other nations. We….there are military arms in use. Nothing overt, no aircraft. This is why the Army is nervous. There are battles. Jimminez is past the point of harassing the Army. The plan is to take the city in the next few days. They are standing and fighting. And winning. The Air Force is the problem now, and they are well defended. To take out the Air Force, they must take the city. But to take the city, they must defeat the Air Force. Do you understand?"

"Again, how can you help us?" Casey grunted. Chuck felt Casey was nudging dangerously close to the 'moron' phase of conversation.

"Perhaps you can assist with some advice regarding the Air Force, yes? I have a friend, perhaps you can speak with him?"

As they walked off, Chuck was wondering how you get rid of an air force. The only thing he could thing of required the use of a bigger air force.

Casey was thinking along different lines. _'If we can get mortars onto the field, we could take out the runways. Be for only 12 to 24 hours, but that'd be long enough if we time it right.'_ Thinking to himself '_We'd need to get close, preferably one of the hills to the south. If we can get mortars.'_

They had a few hours before meeting the contact, Gomes. They made their way to the less reputable part of town.

The air force was active. Sweeping overhead in flights of two jets at a time. Loud. None of them liked this new addition.

They identified the bar given as the meeting place, and kept their distance. They didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

With fifteen minutes to go, they started heading towards the bar.

Jets ROARED overhead.

They strafed the whole corner of the block. Canon and rocket.

Casey was able to actually see the control surfaces flick to full lock as the fighters changed direction and attitude at the end of the strafing run.

Loud. Being on the receiving end of a rocket attack was loud. Debris and dust exploded everywhere.

Sarah tried to throw herself over Chuck. Casey tried to cover both of them. The blast knocked all to the ground some distance from where they'd been.

Chuck's first impression was Sarah was hurt. She was covered in a myriad of cuts and grazes. So was Casey.

Sarah was frantically trying to clean Chuck's wounds.

Chuck, after calming Sarah down, showing her her own blood, looked around. It was a different place. Suddenly in a war zone. Nothing looked the same anymore. What cars there were, were riddled with holes punched by flying debris.

Casey tried to gather them together, and get to safety before the next approach.

Men. With guns. Guns pointed at them.

* * *

**A.N.** The 'toilet' reference is from "From the Earth to the Moon." Baldwin played Fred Haise (Apollo XIII Astronaut and Capcom for Apollo XIV).


	4. Prisoners

**A.N.** _HUGE_, huge thanks to **ne71** for his assistance on the next couple of chapters.

If you like bits of this, then those bits must be Nick's.

* * *

I don't own Chuck et al.

* * *

Previously on Chuck vs La Republica….

"_Are these police aware of your connection to Jimminez?"_

"_It is difficult to be certain, but I believe so, and behave accordingly."_

_Jets ROARED overhead._

_They strafed the whole corner of the block. Canon and rocket.  
_

* * *

**4. Capture**

The men took the trio of Americans away in the back of a truck. Chuck and Sarah shouting their innocence to deaf ears.

It was more dungeon than prison.

A tiny part of Chuck felt all it needed was Marty Feldman as….was it Eye-gore, or Ee-gore? Either Marty, or Michael Palin hanging upside-down yelling "You lucky, jammy bastard."

That part withered after Sarah had been taken from him.

They'd been there about an hour before she was taken. Photographed, fingerprinted and threatened, all the fun things. At first into one holding cell, and then moved to cell just for them.

A man in his fifties, fit, dressed in civilian clothes and a short haircut was paying too much attention to them. He ordered Sarah's removal.

As she was taken away, Chuck and Sarah locked eyes the whole time. They spoke each other's names.

The man in civilian clothes pulled his smart phone out, and began sending a message.

Now Chuck was scared. Even while sharing a cell with Casey. They were chained to the benches.

* * *

Sarah was chained to the ceiling in a cell of her own. Not _quite_ on tiptoe.

The man in civilian clothes came into her cell. He was holding a riding crop for some reason.

He began "Mrs An-der-son…."

Sarah surprised herself. Her first reaction was to laugh "What, are you doing that scene from _The Matrix_?"

Bless you Chuck _that_ was the perfect deflection. 'My name is Sarah Carmichael. Why am I here? I'll have you know my husband …."

The man began again "Mrs Anderson. You might have forgotten me, but we have met before. Columbia? About three, four years ago? And you had a different husband then. Bruce? What happened to him? Ah, these CIA arranged marriages, they never last, do they?"

_Oops_.

* * *

A large man in uniform came into Chuck and Casey's cell. He introduced himself as Generalissimo Bosco. The head of the air force. Chuck recalled he was one of the junta leadership. _So, a nation's leader is here to question me. _Not good.

"So, seńor Carmichael, how well do you know your wife?"

"Sarah, where is she? What have you done…."

"Please seńor, do not insult me. She is not your wife. She is CIA. This we know."

"Please, we're just….."

Bosco cut Chuck off "You were armed. Armed spies. We found these" indicating two hand guns "on your so called wife. And him." He indicated Casey.

Casey laughed. "I'm his bodyguard. It's my job to be armed. And the lady gun? Please. We're American. Everybody carries a gun. Except him."

* * *

Sarah knew him now. Rafter. Wasn't he supposed to be dead?

Sarah remembered, Rafter had been on their side at the time. It had been a 'brush past' that went bad. Bryce delivered the case, and Rafter had seamlessly taken over possession. The local cartel started tailing them soon after. When they heard the shooting start in the distance, assuming that the package was in danger, Bryce and Sarah had needed to be creative. When they lost their tail, they tried to recover the package. They found the kill zone. Rafter must have been forced to 'hard target' himself across an intersection, and got caught. There was a fresh blood pool, drag marks through it, and scoring from the rounds fired. His body and the package were gone.

Rafter continued conversationally "How did you get in here? We watch the flights in. You did not arrive…..normally. But then, that _would_ be normal for the company. Hmm?"

He circled her, letting the crop drift around her midsection.

So, he must have been dirty at the time. Faked his death. Sarah remembered they'd had to leave the area, there was activity building up. The local news reported finding a body fitting his description two days later.

"You will talk, agent. Everybody talks. Just how will the CIA assist the rebels?"

He swung the crop at her stomach.

Sarah didn't make a sound. But it hurt.

The next time, he struck her from behind.

* * *

Bosco was confused. Carmichael was not a spy. The man was obviously in love with his wife. Rafter must be wrong. The CIA couldn't send a civilian on a spy mission, could they? The bodyguard seemed to find it amusing.

"Look at him. Do you really think he's a spy? Of course he loves her. And look at her, all she does is shop, and her nails. I don't think she's ever done a day's work in her life. Sorry boss." He concluded to Chuck.

Chuck managed the rare feat of looking indignant and hopeful at the same time.

Internally he thought _Boss? Crap. He's gonna make me pay for that one._

* * *

Time passed.

Casey was grateful that Bosco was just a straight military man. As interrogations went, Casey had had worse from LA cops over a speeding ticket.

'_They might be buying the millionaire routine. But, why did they separate Walker? If they suspected we were spies, then we'd all be separated. They had something on Walker. If Volkoff owns the secret police, they might have some files on us….. Crap. How well do they get on with Costa Gravas, or Grenada?'_

There were sounds of a woman in pain coming from a distance. Casey looked at Chuck. Yes, he'd heard the screams, and yes, he knew who was making the screams. Chuck seemed to be holding it together, which both puzzled Casey, and impressed him. Considering that is was Chuck.

* * *

More time passed.

To Chuck, it felt like it had been a lifetime since Sarah had been taken. And what were they doing to her?

Part of him knew that _Agent_ Walker would do her best to survive. It was _Sarah_ he loved and needed to know was safe.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, Chuck and Casey felt the explosion. Felt like it came from some distance away, but connected to the prison. After a moment, alarms sounded and guards were running and shouting outside the cells.

Casey and Chuck were on the alert.

Then there was weapons fire.

Casey turned to Chuck "Take your left shoe off."

"What?"

"I put lock picks in your left shoe. Take it off." Chuck could feel the 'moron' phrase was rising to the surface.

Chuck decided not to tempt fate with the obvious '_You put lock picks in my shoes?'_ He did however wonder what else was hiding about his person.

Chuck flashed once he'd found the lock picks. He then freed himself and Casey.

The cell door was a problem.

"Can't you pick the lock?"

"For some reason, the builders failed to leave a key hole on _this_ side of the door, moron."

Annnnd there it was.

It sounded like a small war was taking place in this wing. Weapons fire, shouting and screaming.

Then there were men outside the cell. Armed men. Not in guard uniforms.

In rapid-fire Spanish the tall armed man demanded "Who are you. Why are you in this wing? This is for the political…."

Casey responded in Costa Gravan accented Spanish "Who are you? Are you with the rebels?"

"Yes"

"We were sent here to help Jimminez. We were to meet with….." he clicked his fingers at Chuck.

"Ahh…G…Gomes." Chuck stuttered, having been caught post flash when he was uploading Spanish.

"Meet with Gomes. He's our contact."

The tall rebel replied "Gomes is dead. Do you have a …..safe word?"

Chuck frantically tried to remember the mission brief he'd read on the flight from LA.

The rebel was getting unhappy with the delay.

"Uncle target!" blurted Chuck "Uncle target."

That was enough. The tall rebel called another over, who unlocked the cell.

Once in the corridors, while they were headed for the wall breach, and then outside, Chuck asked about Sarah.

"There are no women here." The shorter rebel replied

"Tall, blond, blue…."

"No women."

"She was with us, they took her…" Chuck looked around frantically. He had no idea where Sarah had been taken.

"Come, we go."

Chuck tried to reason with Casey "We need to find her."

Nothing.

"I'm not leaving without her, man."

Casey grabbed Chuck "These guys made a pretty damned big noise getting in here. Reinforcements are about to turn up, moron. Not the kind we want. We need to move. Now!"

"I'm not leaving without her, man."

"Bartowski, Walker's been escaping from places like this, when you were dry-humping your first co-ed."

Chuck stood his ground "I am _not_ leaving. Without. Her."

Casey weighed his options. Before 2.0, it would have been so much easier.

Casey chose reason "Chuck. Look around you. We got out of here because we got _damned_ lucky. And you want to go charging back in there. Armed with what? Lock picks and harsh language? Chuck, you know Walk .. Sarah. She's a survivor. I know you don't like it, but _we_ need to move. Now."

To ram Casey's point home, uniformed soldiers were now visible across the plaza. They fired something that looked like a stubby, big-mouthed shotgun. The large round bounced once and exploded like a grenade.

Close. Too close.

Chuck decided Casey was right.

* * *

Rafter had persuaded Bosco to move the Carmichael/Anderson woman.

First, as a hostage, she would be valuable. It would mean that the agencies would pay attention, but in the interim, ransom her to provide arms for Republica.

And that would save Volkoff millions.

Secondly, while waiting for ransom, he would have the opportunity to extract everything the Anderson agent knew. All he needed was time, and he would have that.

'No negotiation with terrorist' - Hah! Half of what he'd done for the company was basically paying off terrorists.

All he needed now was to draw Jimminez, and his rebels into a killing ground, and use the squadron of Eagles to smash them.

And, to make his day, the navy had actually done something useful. By pure luck, they'd intercepted a shipment of heavy arms, mortars, and light field pieces.

* * *

Sarah cleaned herself up as best she could in the palatial bathroom. She hurt, but could move, and no bruises showed.

What could she use for a weapon? Sarah felt the urge to do some damage.

The dress she'd been given was ridiculously short. And tight.

She cursed the lack of coms. They'd ditched the earwigs while in the truck. Those would have been hard to explain away.

She prayed he was alright.

_Ooh wait, _that_ comb has a nice sharp pointy bit….._

* * *

The rebels, Chuck and Casey were now in a running fire fight with the army.

The ground forces were probably upset about the prison bombing. Or something.

The rebels drew back to another plaza in the city. There were more rebel forces waiting, to provide enfilade fire, bogging the regulars down, and allowing the rebels to regroup in a safe area. 

* * *

**A.N.** An-der-son. Bryce was an SF fan. We know that. Am surprised that _The Matrix_ ref was never used in the show.


	5. As Thick As A Brick

**A.N.** HUGE, huge thanks to **ne71** for his assistance on this chapter as well.

If you like bits of this, then those bits must still be because of Nick.

* * *

_Tuesday 30__th__ November 2010 (Australian time)_, Leslie Nielsen died yesterday. I think you will spot his best known line.

* * *

I don't own Chuck et al.

Previously on Chuck vs La Republica….

"_Mrs An-der-son."_

"_And you had a different husband. What happened to him? Ah, these CIA arranged marriages, they never last, do they?"_

_Ooh wait, _that_ comb has a nice sharp pointy bit….._

**5. As Thick As A Brick**

With the bulk of the army fighting in the hills to the north, the city defences were stretched, fighting the sporadic fights in the streets. Casey and Chuck assisted with the planning. The two rebel leaders who had helped them escape were not all that devious in planning. Casey was, and he helped pick a couple of areas on the map that would give an advantage, and a few where it wouldn't. Chuck began to think of the tall one as 'Cisco,' and the other as 'Pancho.'

The rebels were aiming to take the TV station. The theory being, if you tell people you've already won, it makes the actual winning easier.

Chuck and Casey had spent the night with rebels, camped in a tavern. Chuck had an uneasy night. Casey tried to calm him, but he didn't really have the right girly feelings.

In the end Chuck accepted Casey's declaration that the best way to help Sarah was to do their job. "You know Walker's going to do whatever she can to get out, or get the job done. We _will_ find her."

In the morning the rebels spent hours trying to gain access to the TV station. They just didn't have enough men. The ground forces called in air support. Casey's plan to keep the rebels away from open areas saved lives. The ground forces were forced to fight street by street.

The battle was turned by another strafing run by the air force. Chuck and Casey were around the corner of a building when it occurred. Casey and the shorter 'Pancho' had screamed to the men to take cover.

The regulars were able to take advantage of the destruction, moving forward into the rubble, and were able to fire and move more aggressively. Chuck found himself the focus of one particular regular that seemed to have taken a dislike to him personally. Rounds landing in the rubble near where Chuck was crouching. He called out to Casey for help.

Casey organised for one of the rebels to give cover, and then advised Chuck to "Pick up a weapon, you moronic, love struck, two bit, four flushing…"

Chuck thanked him as he ran past him.

Hiding behind a new pile of rubble, Chuck was sharing his position with a couple of dead bodies. Not feeling happy about touching the body of the fallen rebel, Chuck took a rifle from the nearest one. It was heavy, and long.

A flash, and Chuck knew it. It was a model manufactured in Lithgow Australia (How the hell did it end up here?), based on the Belgian FN FAL. Known as an L2A1, the full auto version of the old NATO SLR. Generically called an AR.

Chuck used it to spray rounds in the general direction of the government forces. The recoil caught him slightly off guard, before he could regain control. He still couldn't flat out shoot anyone.

The larger 7.62 mm rounds had a really bad-ass sound when fired. It did chew through the magazine though. But it did have the desired effect, the ground forces opposing them didn't like that ripping farty noise when he opened up. Chuck forced himself not to hurl, as he checked the pouches of the dead man for more ammo. One mag left. Pity.

Casey got his hands on an M16 the same way Chuck had gotten his. He was kind of having fun.

Good honest battlefield work. It took him back to simpler days.

Run. Down. Crawl. Observe. Aim. Kill.

But on the whole, they lost ground to the regulars. The rebels pulled back once the regulars gave up the chase.

Casey had been right. In order to defend, they needed to have a no-go point. Casey had predicted that past _this_ point, the defenders would cease following. The rebels, withdrew to the regroup point, and tried again for Casey's approach "B."

By the time the rebels assembled, and mounted another assault, the defenders had also had time to regroup. Again, the defenders were successful.

When they returned to the regroup point, Casey pointed out that "a properly defended site can withstand any assault. With what we have right now, and while _they_ still have the air force, all we can do is keep them occupied."

* * *

Sarah wasn't having fun. The guard would wake up soon, and she couldn't _quite_ reach the phone/data cables.

The only thing she could see to help her up was the office copier. There was no way she would climb up on a copier in _this_ dress.

'_OK, that's the cables. Now, what I really need now is _my_ Nerd Herd associate to get the splice to a computer, and then onto the big wide world._

_Casey had better be looking after him.'_

* * *

The rebels changed target, and tried for the power station. This was in an industrial area of the city.

Again, the defences beat them back.

Initially, using grenade launchers, the rebels were able to make some of the transformers make some diverting bangs, and sparks. Then a flight of Eagles swooped in, firing at the rebels, a line of explosions from the cannons running up the street.

Casey and Chuck had swapped weapons during the afternoon. Chuck had seen the lust in Casey's eyes when he'd spotted the old AR. Seriously, he was like a kid with a new toy.

If it wasn't for the fact it was a rifle, it was kinda cute.

On a hilltop plantation, at the outskirts of town, they were able to rest for the first time in hours. To Chuck, it felt like days. They would need the bulk of the revolutionary forces to reach them for help. The rebels set themselves into a defensive perimeter.

Chuck put it to 'Pancho' and 'Cisco' that while they hadn't had a flat out success, the day had still been a success. Because they'd been able to tie up the city defences, as well as a good part of the air force, that meant _those_ forces weren't being used against Jimminez.

And Chuck _still_ didn't know what had happened to Sarah. There had been no word.

The taller leader, 'Cisco,' called them over. "We've had word. It is not good. The heavy arms we were counting on have been captured by the navy."

"I thought you described the navy as 'a couple of rusty barges?'" Casey accused Chuck.

"Maybe they got lucky."

"The mortars and shells we need to take the airfield out. These we needed. Now they can be used against us. Ironic, no?"

"So, nothing besides ground troops. Those jets will be the tipping point of the whole thing" ruminated Casey.

* * *

She'd been able to take out that first guard by looking all 'girly' and helpless. When he'd had his back turned (big mistake), she'd been able to put him in a choke hold.

She chuckled to herself. She'd once seen Chuck take put a thug in a much more….._nerdy_…fashion. He'd come from behind, and to Sarah's horror gave the thug a Vulcan nerve pinch.

And then to her absolute amazement, he collapsed.

It was only as the thug was falling, she saw the tranq gun Chuck was holding. He'd just tranqed the guard.

Trust her Chuck to give it an eloquent spin.

And a cheesy grin.

A change in guards had caught her out. While she was trying to get a laptop connected, the doors burst open. The guard stood uncomprehending for a moment, and then saw the fallen comrade, and called for help. He was nervous, and held the rifle on her as he shook with adrenalin.

A weapon in the hands of an amateur makes professionals nervous. They can do something really stupid.

Three guards escorted her now, and now kept an eye on her at all times.

* * *

The rebels, Chuck and Casey thrashed out several scenarios to overrun the airfield. Nothing was feasible.

Casey stomped off with Chuck "Without those mortars, it's no good. We might as well just throw rocks" as he kicked at one.

They happened to be facing the city at that time. The air force had recently strafed another target. The dust cloud was prominent.

The airborne attack reminded Chuck of when they'd been captured. That was the last time he and Sarah had been safe and free. Chuck recalled half of the devastation seemed to have come from the flying debris. And then Sarah, her beautiful face smudged with small cuts, worrying about him….

Flying debris….

And then Chuck had an idea.

"….well, actually, what about bricks?"

"What are you talking about?" demanded Casey ('Moron' was a heartbeat away. Chuck didn't care).

"That movie bomber we saw? Have you ever seen a jet fly into a brick wall at 150 miles an hour?"

The cogs turned in Casey's head. "Uh, yeah. I mean no, but …Surely, you can't be serious."

Chuck smiled, how could he resist _that_ straight line?

"Yes I am…and don't call me Shirley."

"…..Chuck, that Mitchell's a prop for a movie. Pretty sure they didn't fit real bomb shackles in there."

"Probably not, but even if they did, I don't know we can use them. All we need to do is rig some nets, load the brick rubble, and then let them go, one, two, three."

"No promises, but maybe we need to have a closer look at the Mitchell." Casey rubbed his hands together. He called to the rebel commanders and they began to organise things.

* * *

Casey went back to the airfield they'd landed at. Whoever made the Mitchell had done a faithful job. Being a warbird, you didn't need keys.

After all, who would steal a Word War 2 bomber?

She was hot inside. Someone had converted her to fly tourists around the islands by fitting seats either side of the bulky box of the bomb bay. Back when tourists still came to Republica Libra.

Casey paused at the rear of the cockpit. Telling himself he was looking at the panel configuration.

'_It's just a plane. How did she become She? Come on, let's have a look at her.'_

The only non-kosher items Casey saw were the twin VOR/ILS and modern nav/com panel. Everything else looked like it was from the 1940s.

And frankly, not all that different from the twenty-year-old trainers when he'd learned to fly twen… crap, _more_ than twenty years ago.

'_Hello, what have we here?'_ he ducked below the cockpit, finding the bombardier position in the nose.

"No bomb sight, but _that_ looks awfully authentic for a movie prop."

_That_ was a hydraulics panel marked 'Bay Doors' and 'Rack 1' to 'Rack 4.'

'_OK, maybe, maybe we can get lucky.'_

* * *

Chuck got stuck with the glamorous task of sorting out the rubble.

Fishing nets turned up. Too thin.

Cargo nets next time. Better.

Using some pick-up trucks on each corner, Chuck organised to load bricks in the net. The net creaked too much for Chuck's liking.

Next, they got some wire rope to weave through the nets. Better. And it was a choice slice of hell. Someone forgot gloves, so wire whiskers stab holes in any bit of you that they can.

_This had better work. I've got blood invested in this._

* * *

"Well, Chuck me."

Casey was outside now. He'd opened the bay doors, and was standing up inside the bay.

On the inside walls of the bay, covered in grease and dust, there they were.

'_Bomb Shackle Mk IV._'

* * *

**A.N.** I was trying to include a scene of Sarah photocopying herself (accidentally of course – what sort of pervert do you think I am?) as a reference to an advert Yvonne once did here for a brand of copy paper. It's a good brand. I still buy it.

Have a look on you-tube. 'Strahovski photocopier' should find it.

I think that was the moment when I fell in love with her…..

Sorry, where was I?

Except, photocopiers don't work that way, do they? Am pretty sure _our_ Sarah would notice that the cover was _up_ when she climbed onto it, so….

My sub-conscious made a connection it took my fore-brain weeks to notice. The bit where Chuck reads fan fiction, all the shows mentioned (including "Chuck") feature a crew member of the _Serenity_.

Oh, does anyone know what film the "Vulcan-nerve-pinch-syringe" scene came from? Honestly can't remember what it came from. Vaguely recall it was pretty bad. That probably tells you a lot about my movie choices.


	6. The Dawn Raid

**A.N.** OK, hands up who looked up the photocopier ad? Now, keep your hand up if you rewound it and watched it again? Yeah, me too.

Just quietly, didn't think many people would already know it. Underestimated the internet, again.

* * *

Did you know there is a website that lists every known Vulcan nerve pinch on film and TV?

Yes, the one from The Fear of Death is listed.

Anyway, I looked it up, and….

Oh, God no!

Seriously?

Police Academy V?

Five?

I actually watched the _fifth_ one?

(Imitates Zac, imitating Yvonne, channelling her Aussie school-girl) "Naiooooou….. "

Um, can I go back, and delete that scene? Please? We can all agree that never happened, OK?

OK.

* * *

I don't own Chuck et al.

* * *

Previously on Chuck vs La Republica….

_He _still_ didn't know what had happened to Sarah._

"_The mortars and shells we need to take the airfield out. These we needed. Now they can be used against us. Ironic, no?"_

"_What about bricks?"  
_

* * *

**6. The Dawn Raid**

They loaded the bricks into the Mitchell. It took the whole night. And all four pick-ups. Several loads.

It was a pain in the proverbial. First you strung the net up. And then load the bricks. By hand. At first into the pick-ups. And then into the cargo net.

There were a lot of bricks.

Annnd then start on net two.

Repeat as often as unnecessary.

* * *

Casey said the words Chuck dreaded.

"We need to test it."

"Naioooooou!"

"I'd hate to push the button, and have nothing happen. Joking. I've tested the circuit. We need to determine delay."

'_Great. And did Casey just tell a joke? A bad one, but a joke?'_

Casey claimed he needed to be outside to calculate any delay. Chuck was damned if he was going to miss this.

So 'Pancho' volunteered. Sort of.

"Push the button, Max."

Casey asked "I thought we were calling him Pancho?"

"From some movie. Never mind."

'Pancho' waved his hand as he released rack 1.

There was a creaking sound, the net sagged. And then a big cloud of yellow dust. And a mound of broken bricks under the belly of the beast.

Chuck was a little worried that the net might foul the control surfaces at the back. Elevators.

"About a second and a half, let's see, 170 odd knots means a lead of…."

"My God. It works."

Annnnnnd reload.

* * *

Casey used some-ones pocket knife to scribe some aim marks in the Plexiglass of the nose.

"If we've done our numbers correctly, this mark to drop at 200 feet. This to drop at 150."

"The numbers are good."

Grunt. "It's almost time. First light is what? 0500? Let's get cleaned up. Then we can kick the tires, and light the fires."

Chuck nearly congratulated Casey for making a movie reference, and then realised, that no, that was art imitating life.

* * *

Casey was worried. This was a bird he had zero experience with.

And she was going be _awfully_ close to maximum weight.

He had no idea of the take-off distance needed for _any_ weight.

Or for that matter, how to start a Wright-Cyclone radial. On the plus side, the Mitchell had been based here, so the TODA should be OK… the bricks had to weigh more than then twenty passengers, though…

Unlike last time, they had no internet to get hand books from. Not that there would be many B-25 pilot hand books floating 'round out there. Or 'in' there.

He'd checked with Chuck, but for some reason the intelligence agencies failed to include B-25s in the intersect.

It was still very oh-dark-am when the two climbed into the Mitchell. Casey stowed the Automatic Rifle in the cabin (he'd grown rather fond of it, and no one would miss it if he 'borrowed' it for a while, right?). The two made their own start up list. They made several false starts. In doing so, they flattened the battery. They needed to run jump cables from two of the pick-ups to keep the batteries up.

Finally, the port engine clattered into life.

They knew the sequence now, and starboard was growling happily soon after.

After a bit, Casey started her rolling towards the runway. Then he lined up. Brakes ON. Full power. And wait while it built up. And release. After a moment, she started rolling.

There was no direction control from the rudder, he had to steer using the brakes.

Oops, too much, and correct.

Casey developed a whole new respect for the Doolittle mission. These guys had taken off from a flat top with no rudder, and the bitch torqued solidly to the left.

At 50 kts he felt the rudder start to firm up.

At 75 the nose wheel came unstuck but only the nose wheel.

They were using up runway faster, and faster.

At 105 kts (and they never knew it, but _right_ over the 'piano keys') she flew.

God, she was heavy. Any degree of bank, and she started sinking. _She must be right on the edge of the envelope_ thought Casey.

Up to a couple of thousand, and out over the water. Casey experimented gingerly. Yep, anything more than a rate one turn, and she needed a goodly amount of back pressure to maintain level flight.

Ok, _that_ is definitely first light, thought Casey. The Eastern horizon was noticeably light blue now. Casey tuned the NDB for the civil field.

He tracked past the civil field, drifting closer to the military field, but not too close to alert anyone, yet. Began what would look like a standard 'barbell' decent.

Chuck counted the jets lined up. There were twenty of them. He tried to double check, but couldn't, they were too far past him now.

Chuck called out to Casey "I can only count twenty. Weren't there supposed to be twenty two?"

"Twenty. Are you sure?"

"Not a hundred per cent."

"OK, get below, and keep your eyes open for any of them moving about the field."

Chuck disconnected his headset, and moved back and down, forward into the bombers position. Plugged in, and advised Casey he was in position.

Casey began to line up on the squadron of fighters parked in a line. Descend to 200 feet. Casey called Chuck "Open the bay doors."

There was an increase in noise as the doors opened, and the Mitchell felt different.

Descend to 150 feet, the jets were racing towards them now. 175 kts.

"Chuck, 150 feet. Your call. Try to keep one rack, just in case."

"Got it."

The first of the jets slid smoothly into the 150 mark Casey had made. Chuck pressed the buttons. One. Two. Three.

Ready on four just in case.

The Mitchell lifted as the weight tumbled out of her. Casey felt a little caught out, and re levelled.

The bricks punched through the jets like they were paper. And the mass of brick rubble then slid after it stopped bouncing. Knocking the undercarriage out from under standing aircraft. Canopies were shattered. Gas turbine engines now found chunks of brick tearing through the delicate fans. Aerofoils now had gaping holes in them. Or were knocked away from the fuselages.

Casey spotted the two missing jets. Both at the end of the taxiway, lining up.

"Chuck! Did you keep one layer?"

"Yes."

"Good, keep the doors open."

Casey hauled her up, and into a steep bank to the right.

The gee force piled onto Chuck rapidly. "Ooof…..Casey…..what….(gasp)….."

"I found the other two Eagles. One is on the runway, see him?"

"Got it."

"We're higher now, use the 200 mark."

* * *

The pilots in the two remaining jets didn't hear the first pass, or know about the destruction behind them. The noise inside the fighters hid that.

The rear pilot noticed something flick overhead, but didn't take any notice.

He did however notice the large twin flash past his nose. And he especially noticed the small mountain of yellow bricks tumble out, and destroy his wingman.

The cargo net fluttered down in an almost comical afterthought, landing over the flattened remains of the ruined Eagle.

The rubble spilled the width of the runway, and what looked like about a third of its length. There was no way he could use the runway now.

And now was when he needed to be in the air.

* * *

"That's the last of the bricks. Do you want me to close the doors?"

"Chuck, behind me is the AR. Grab it and get back in there. That last jet is still moving. Careful, another steep turn"

Casey hauled her over to the left in another two-ish (and the 'ish' was definitely in the 'greater than' column) gee turn and made a short racetrack loop to bring him back to the approach to the field.

* * *

Teniente Ramirez was in the last remaining Eagle. The tower was babbling at him, he barely heard them.

On the ground he was in danger. In the air, he would be the hunter. He used the end of the runway to turn around, and tried to race back to the taxiway he came from.

There was debris on the taxiway too, but past the halfway mark. Ramirez knew he could get airborne before then.

Where the hell was that damned bandit?

* * *

Chuck fought his way back to get the rifle. This damn thing had never been made with people moving about inside it in mind. Everything seemed determined to hurt his knees or elbows.

Especially with Casey putting on unexpected _Red Bull Air Race_ manoeuvres.

He got back into the bombers position, checked the weapon was locked and loaded. The two spare mags ready.

"Casey, there's no gun port in here."

"Shoot through the glass, then."

_Awlllllrighty then. Through the glass it is._

Chuck saw the remaining jet begin to accelerate down the taxiway.

Chuck fired full auto through the Plexiglass.

He could see the rounds digging up the dirt around the Eagle as it raced forward.

"I hit him!"

"Great, kid. Don't get cocky."

Casey could see the cone of fire Chuck was making, but it wouldn't stop the Eagle. It had been a hope at best. Casey thought _Oh well, the hard way then_. "Chuck, get back up here NOW!"

Casey aimed the nose of the Mitchell down at the Eagle, and hit the throttles and props full to the stops.

It was close. Ramirez _almost_ made it.

Chuck realised what was about to happen, and where he was at that time. And what was staring him down the throat. He raced back up to the cockpit. The jet exhausts tore the bombers position to an uninhabitable hell. Then the weight of the Mitchell forced the rear of the Eagle down. One of the rudder fins was shredded by the starboard propeller, and didn't do the prop blades any favour either. The Eagle reared up like a horse in a cowboy movie, and the main undercarriage failed. The jet then slammed back onto the deck, snapping the nose gear like a twig, and then began to slide along the taxiway.

The Mitchell slewed around to the left as the port prop began to chew its way along the body, leaving a series of slanted strip cuts that could best be described as like a sharks gill slits. Just a lot more of them. Casey pulled back on the yoke. The Mitchell laboured back into the sky. Having both props bent back shy of the halfway points had not improved performance. Quite the reverse.

Casey was worried he'd cracked one or both crankshafts. The Mitchell wasn't a happy plane anymore. Casey could feel her struggle. In fact she felt close to a stall.

No way they'd make the civil airport.

The beach was the only flat area available to them. Casey turned towards it.

"Chuck, when I tell you, pull those two levers all the way back. Both at the same time."

"Got it."

"I can't remember, are the bay doors closed?"

"….no idea. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You were probably a little busy."

"Yeah, about that. Next time you decide to give me a tan, I'm telling Sarah."

The grunt didn't quite activate the intercom.

To Chuck, everything happened fast.

For Casey, he had all the time in the world. Mostly. Over the headland, descending through 500 feet, he was committed.

Power to idle. Mixture to lean/cut off. The engines windmilled.

"OK, Chuck, feather the props."

As the blades turned edge on to the airstream, the props slowed, then stilled. Casey felt she picked up about five knots.

There was just the sound of the wind.

Leave the gear up, wheels down onto soft sand is a _bad_ idea. Flaps…..never mind. And flare out. She sinks lower than expected, no wheels of course.

The landing was surprisingly gentle. The bay doors were open, but they ripped off easily, and didn't cause her to nose in. After that, it was just a longer than normal flare.

The sand makes a hiss as she slides to a (mostly) gentle stop.

Silence.

"Casey" Chuck says with a grin as he removes his harness and headset "you are a brilliant pilot. And next time, we're flying commercial." Chuck got up, and began to head to the mid hatch.

Casey said nothing. He was switching the plane off. Restoring the switches and levers to the off positions. No real point, no need to. But it was something he wanted to do.

Chuck opened up and climbed down to the sand.

Casey sat for a moment after he undid his harness and headset. He ran his hand over the top of the instrument panel, and then said to her in a quiet voice "Thank you."

He found the AR in the back where Chuck had dropped it in his rush to get back to the cockpit. He couldn't find any of the spare mags. He joined Chuck on the sand.

Chuck appraised Casey, unshaved, wearing rumpled and brick-dust laden clothes. Unslept. Carrying a high powered rock-n-roll rifle at a jaunty angle.

All he really needed was a bandoleer of grenades.

"That's a good look for you"

"Come on, let's go and save the bad guys from your girlfriend."

"Don't you mean…. Nah, you're probably right. Shiny, let's be good guys."

* * *

**Deep Voiced Man:** Next week on Republica; Sarah. Rafter. And a fork.


	7. Viva Republica Libre

I don't own Chuck et al.

* * *

Previously on Chuck vs La Republica….

_The sand makes a hiss as the plane slides to a gentle stop._

"_Come on, let's go and save the bad guys from your girlfriend."_

**7. Viva Republica Libre**

The beach soon turned into a dangerous place to be. For some reason the ground defences boiled onto the beach like a stirred up ant nest. The angry bitey kind.

Chuck and Casey watched from the shrubbery off to one side. Casey grunted "Come on, let's go."

They had to take a wide detour to avoid the airfield and associated troops. After about an hour of visiting rooftops and backyards, Casey spotted the troops associated with 'Pancho' and 'Cisco,' who were out looking for them

The rebels greeted Chuck and Casey as conquering heroes. The observers had seen the attack taking out the entire nation's air force.

With bricks.

There was talk of a statue.

The plume of dust had risen some distance. Their success had been reported to Jimminez's main force. The main force of the rebels greeted the news with their own success. Knowing there would be no air support, they overran the regular army between them and the city.

* * *

Rafter was screaming at Bosco.

"What the f…..laming hell where you doing? How can you LOSE an ENTIRE air force? Bricks! They used god-damned bricks!"

"It is difficult, yes. We still have aircraft."

"What, that old Gooney Bird? That is the _only_ thing we could use as a weapons platform. You only had two Blackhawks, and THEY are rotting for spares. We don't have TIME!"

"Might I remind you that you are a guest in my country? And that you should not speak to a Generalissim…."

"General of what! You lost and air force today, remember? Annnd YOU invited me here, remember?"

Bosco was losing patience with his guest.

* * *

Sarah stood in the corner. Surrounded by three guards, weapons ready.

She'd heard the shouting while she was being brought in, catching the last part about _'you lost an air force today'_. The air of hostility in the room was tangible.

She could use that.

Both Rafter, and Bosco were after blood. Something had happened to the Eagle squadron, something they really didn't like.

Did that mean she was for the chop? Or would she have to ….. 'entertain the troops,' so to speak. A memory of an old British comedy Chuck loved surfaced. "A fate _worse_, than a fate worse than death. That's pretty bad."

One thing did puzzle her, _just how _do_ you lose an entire air force?_

It was a good sign. To get them that angry, it meant Chuck was, well, being Chuck. He probably did something _way_ out of left field. The thought caused a slight grin to cross her face.

Bosco began shouting into a telephone. "Bring the broadcast here. Immediately. I will make the announcement."

Rafter turned to her. "You will be of some use." He addressed her "We're about to announce something of great importance. With you visible in the background, your government will know we have….a negotiation point."

The generalissimo ordered breakfast.

Sarah managed to palm one of the forks from the table, before Rafter decided prisoners don't eat with their captors. Pity, Sarah was rather hungry.

'_The hell with protocol, I've got to know. What did he do?'_ Sarah addressed Bosco "I'm curious, generalissimo, what happened to the air force?"

Rafter tried to shut Bosco up, but Bosco was both charmed by Sarah, and still annoyed with Rafter, and so overrode him.

"The rebeldes found a plane that was being used to fly touristas. They attack early this morning."

"I didn't hear any explosions."

Bosco turned red. Puce, really. A vein pulsed on his forehead.

'_OK, end of discussion. Chuck, where are you? I'm dying to know what the heck you did.'_

* * *

Casey and Chuck made their way back to the prison. Chuck was determined to find some trace of his love. Casey reminded Chuck "The last place we know she was, was the prison, right? Well, fascists love paperwork. There should be a prisoner transfer or something."

The rebel group wanted to help the heroes of the revolution. They weren't, however, too keen on being near the prison. Not the one they'd blown up.

The rebels found two 'volunteers' for uniforms that Casey and Chuck could wear. Finding one for Casey, in fact, took three 'volunteers.' The alleyway was getting a little crowded with unconscious, semi naked guards.

Chuck flashed up Spanish again, and he and Casey marched into the prison looking very guard like.

"Let me do most of the talking, Chuck. You've got a Los Angeles accent."

* * *

Bosco was being made up by the TV people. The camera crew were setting themselves up. They wanted Bosco at his desk. At first they wanted the window behind him. But there was damage to the building in shot, so the desk got moved.

They placed Republica flags and indoor plants in shot behind the desk. Sarah was kept in the corner. Apparently they would reveal her as an Americano spy during the speech.

After a bit, Bosco sat down, and addressed the nation.

* * *

Chuck was riffling through a filing cabinet frantically. Casey stood guard at the door.

"Nothing. I thought bad guys kept better records than this."

"Come on, we can't stay here too long Chuck. Let's go back, see if we can coerce some useful info from those guards in the alleyway."

It was on their way back out, they passed a guard break room. The TV was on.

Chuck grabbed Casey's arm.

They looked at the screen, and then each other.

Oh crap. Chuck had a _bad_ feeling.

They didn't run for the front door. But they did walk quickly.

* * *

Bosco was denouncing both Jimminez and the USA for meddling with La Republica.

Sarah tried to move a little to the left (being the slightly closer guard). The rifle gestured for her to move back. After a little bit, she tried again. Again, the rifle hinted she should move back.

* * *

Chuck and Casey raced to the presidential palace followed by the rebels. They left the partly clothed, pile of guards behind.

* * *

Bosco was announcing to the nation, and the world, that La Republica was not to be trifled with.

"…as proof, we have captured Americano assassins. Sent here by the CIA." He gestured to have Sarah brought into view.

Prod with a rifle barrel.

Reaching past end of the barrel, Sarah grabbed the rifle (keeping the aim of the rifle away from herself, and stepped _in_ past the flash suppressor), and swung the butt of the weapon at the second guard.

The first guard tried to hold on to his rifle. He was spun into his fellow guard, and the two went down in a tangle. Both then frantically trying to get back up.

Before Sarah could ready the weapon, the third guard grabbed her from behind.

She lost the rifle in the struggle to free herself.

"Shoot her!" the generalissimo was screaming. The camera panned to take in the blur of dangerous limbs that was Sarah.

Rafter produced a 9mm Browning and calmly shot at Sarah.

Sarah caught Rafter's movement as he was bringing his pistol up, she whipped around, dragging the guard (holding her from behind) with her. Rafter's double tap killed the guard, shot in the back.

She let the body fall to the carpet, and flung herself to one side. All the time Rafter was trained on her, firing round after round as she kept moving. The TV cameras panned away from the rolling Sarah (who wouldn't stay still for them) to the cinematic vision of Rafter calmly shooting. Sarah kicked her shoes off for increased traction as she was rolling.

While Sarah was desperately trying to keep moving, she was reaching inside her bra for…..she found the comb she'd hidden there. It was a hairdresser's comb, with a spike for a handle. Sarah didn't like it as a throwing weapon – too light, and the comb part would make for a poor trajectory – but right now, she had no option.

Sarah threw it at Rafter's right eye. As she feared, the plastic part of the comb interfered with the throw. Rafter was grazed on the side of his face, and he fired again, and again at the still evasive Sarah.

She tried to go for the hidden fork. She just didn't have the time. He kept her moving, trying to keep out of danger.

Shot. Shot. Click.

Rafter had used up all his ammunition. He flung the weapon aside, and threw himself at Sarah.

When he was in range, Sarah saw an opportunity, and even though she had the fork out now, was able to kick straight upwards from her crouch, her bare heel contacting his chin. Rafter rocked back, but was able to grab her leg as he reeled backwards. Sarah was dragged upwards, hopping forwards while Rafter held her other leg. One decent hop, and she was able get enough height for a kick into his face.

Sarah's heel smashed towards Rafter's cheekbone, but he was able to react, and threw his head back and to the side.

Which exposed his throat to Sarah.

Her heel caught him square across his throat, crushing his hyoid and larynx. Shutting off the man's windpipe. Sarah brought him down by sweeping the leg, as she forced him backwards. He hit the carpet with a solid thump.

She knelt on his chest, the fork poised for the kill. As he started choking, she realised she didn't need it.

Rafter thrashed on the carpet like a tiger shark landed in a small boat. His face straining, and his eyes bulging. It was oddly silent. No gasping or recognisable articulation passed his lips. The only sound he made was the thumping of his limbs as he slowly strangled to death. It was only fair, Sarah's foot hurt.

It took time. Eventually Rafter died, his face blue and his tongue protruding.

During all of this, everyone else had stood transfixed. The realization dawned on them, that this….giant blond she-male… was alive. And dangerous.

The one guard that still had a rifle realised what was in his hands, took a stance to aim at Sarah. The second guard was trying to pick up the weapon that she'd taken from him.

Sarah moved towards the standing guard, readying her weapon, the fork. He swung the barrel towards Sarah.

She parried his rifle barrel with the fork, and was able to rotate in towards him, elbowing his face. He dropped like a school bag. The middle tines of the fork were now bent out like a Vulcan salute.

And _there_ was a power socket. If she could get the socket to arc, it could give enough distraction to get to one of the rifles lying on the carpet.

She flung it at the socket. Perfect.

There was a _very_ loud ZAP accompanied by a blinding white flash.

All power in the suite died.

And the power surge cascaded. The building was old, and the wiring was over fifty years old in places. The fuse box for the whole building was toast.

The distraction from the zap allowed Sarah to take down her last problematic guard (who, to be perfectly honest, by this stage really didn't want to be here anymore). The other people in the room backed away now. She picked up the rifle. A quick spray at their feet sent the TV people running. She moved closer to Bosco.

Bosco didn't like the way she smiled.

* * *

The palace was in sight.

The smoke from the damaged fuse room was still billowing out from one side of the palace.

Chuck and Casey didn't delay with the guards at the front. They left them slumped (near) where they found them. They took their weapons with them.

They found the presidential suite by following the noise.

From the outside, they could hear Bosco screaming "Shoot her. Shoot her. She is mad!"

Chuck relaxed.

He knew then, that she was OK.

He strolled in though the open door.

"Hey, sweetie. _There_ you are…are they looking after you OK?"

Sarah smiled hugely. She let go of Bosco, who collapsed to the floor, and was crawling to the first person he saw (Casey) begging him to "Save me. Save me. She's psycho."

Sarah and Chuck shared a silent look, and assumed a back-to-back stance. He asked her "do you need any ammo?" in the same tone he would ask if she wanted coffee with breakfast.

They both had the room covered. It felt nice to have his pleasant warmth and weight against her.

Casey dragged Bosco up by the scruff of his neck. He growled to Bosco "Smart move. How's you fighter squadron going?"

"…." Bosco looked at his saviour in horror. _It was the bodyg….. Oh, no. Still, safer than…her._

Casey decided he'd had enough. He said to Chuck and Sarah "Let's go. Viva Jimminez!" he ended in a shout as he fired a burst in to the ceiling.

That cleared the room.

The 'Pancho and Cisco' rebels had taken the rest of the palace. They greeted Casey with open arms.

Bosco, they greeted with cocked rifles.

* * *

**Pop quiz, hot shot(s):** OK, who knows just _which_ British comedy offered the "fate _worse_, than a fate worse than death?"

Anyone catch the 'Life of Brian' reference?

* * *

**Deep Voiced Man:** Next time! Don't miss the stunning conclusion to Republica!

.


	8. Mission Debrief

Well done to those that knew about Edmund, and Private Plane. The Python ref was when Brian jumped down into the hermit's hole, hurting the hermit's foot, causing him to break his vow of silence.

* * *

If you like bits of this last chapter, you probably liked bits of The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy….

I don't own Chuck et al.

* * *

Previously on Chuck vs La Republica….

"_What the f…..laming hell where you doing? How can you LOSE an ENTIRE air force? Bricks! They used god-damned bricks!"_

"_As proof, we have captured Americano assassins. Sent here by the CIA."  
_

* * *

**Deep Voiced Man: **And now, the conclusion to Republica.

**8. Mission Debrief**

Casey dragged Bosco with him as they milled around the palace with the rebels.

Chuck and Sarah stood in a tight embrace for a long time. He eventually whispered into her hair "I missed you."

"I know. Could have used your help, you know." She replied. When they looked up, they were alone. For the most part. Chuck looked down at Rafter's body.

"Looks like you did alright by yourself. Come on love, let's go find the others." They left the suite holding hands. The rifles each carried didn't mar the romantic image even a little.

Word reached the city rebels that Jimminez's forces had overcome the standing army, and were about to reach the city.

Jimminez and his men marched into the palace around midday. He greeted 'Pancho' and 'Cisco' like brothers. They told Jimminez of the two Americano heroes who had saved the day. Casey was enveloped by Jimminez in a bear hug.

Chuck figured he'd have to hear that _particular_ grunt again, to assign it a number. It was the sort of grunt that was reserved for very specific occasions.

Jimminez kissed Sarah's hand (halfway up to the elbow before both Chuck and Sarah simultaneously invented their own grunt) when he discovered her role in the capture of Bosco.

Jimminez greeted Bosco cordially, in a military manner. Jimminez, then called over his radio to have his guest brought in.

The rebels raided the palace kitchens for an impromptu banquet. As they were finishing, the former army generalissimo, Castillo was dragged in, looking as if he'd been on the wrong end of a small war.

Casey pointed out that with the two former generalissimos present, along with the TV broadcast equipment, here was the perfect opportunity to announce the change of government.

"Splendid. Capitol idea. Do it, set it up."

* * *

Restoring power took a little time.

Chuck gave a hand. The fuse box had really had a number done on it.

Chuck smiled at the thought of just _who_ had done the number. _'Really should backup my computers'_ he thought to himself for no apparent reason. _'Just in case.'_

They were able to bypass the ruined sections, and salvage some of the existing circuits. They got power to the suite. Real repairs could wait.

This time, they used the window for the background. Rafter's body was unceremoniously removed before the main players showed up.

Jimminez was presidential in his address. He showed the two deposed generalissimos and made a show of the handover of power.

* * *

Casey was keen to get out of the Republica.

Jimminez wanted to hear Casey's story over and over. They waved their hands a lot, recreating the flight.

Casey later summed it up quietly for the team. "Jimminez restores democracy, freedom for all. Blah. Blah. Blah. We'll probably be back here within the year."

They were able to use a phone, and checked in with Beckman, advising success and they would return to Jamaica for a more detailed report.

* * *

The day spilled into a night of hero worship (of which Casey had had his fill within minutes), parties and just generally everyone wanting to buy the heroes a drink.

After 11pm, Casey found Chuck near the bonfire. The booze was flowing freely. Casey wasn't drunk, but he _was_ socially exited. Casey was smoking a huge cigar, and had two pretty girls in tow, one under each arm. His eyes had an evil glint.

"Chuck! There you are. This… _this_ is the man" Casey unfolded one young lady, and gestured to Chuck with his cigar "who did the real damage. He had the idea in the first place, and _he_ was the one to push the buttons."

Casey gently encouraged the two young brunettes towards Chuck.

Chuck's half smile froze in a rictus "Casey, what….what are you doing?"

Casey just smiled, and flicked his eyes towards Sarah, who was about twenty feet away.

Her expression changed _very_ fast.

_Oh, no_ "Case… Hey ladies" Chuck suddenly found himself enveloped with Casey's two young friends. "Um, well, you see, Casey's exaggerate…ing…..Sarah! Hi! Hi, these are friends of….."

Sarah had extracted Chuck from the girls with a terse "Excuse me, I need my _boyfriend_ for a moment."

She really didn't use _that_ much excessive force. Honestly.

"Oh, God. Sarah. Oh, no! No, no, no, this isn't what it looks ...That was Casey, Casey! He's evil. Evil. Don't…. Don't hate me….. Sarah? Sweetie, are you…"

He realised she was shaking.

_Oh, crap. She is really, _really_ pissed off._

It was only when she lifted her face, he saw the smirk, and her clear blue eyes glistening. She was shaking with silent laughter. She was trying very hard not to crack completely up.

"And _you_ are just as bad, missy" as he wrapped his arms tight around her with loving smile, softly kissing the top of her head.

"Mmmm Hmmm" she muffled into his chest as she dampened his shirt with tears of now full blown laughter.

* * *

They were given suites at the Sheraton. As they lay in bed after a passionate reunion, she found out what he'd done.

"Bricks! No wonder they were so pi…You used…br….." and she lost it again, convulsing with laughter. After five minutes, she regained her composure.

She told him with an almost straight face that he'd been _very_ Chuck.

Apparently, Chuck's who had been 'very Chuck' need to be rewarded. He drew her in for a hungry kiss. She responded eagerly, her legs holding him close.

They had been apart for two days, after all.

* * *

They got back to the small airfield, found the 'borrowed' Cessna they came in with, and flew back to Jamaica. The new government gave them fuel to top up with. They reversed the GPS flight plan.

Casey had sat in the back, muttering something about a 'twelve hour rule.' Sarah let Chuck take the yoke once they were airborne and in a stable climb. It was harder than Sarah and Casey made it looked. Casey fell asleep. He cradled his AR.

Sarah landed back at Ocho Rios, and left the plane where they found it, after un-hotwiring (would that be 'cold-wiring?') it.

Just as they were about to walk back across the field, they were suddenly surrounded. Police and drug agencies in SWAT gear pointing some serious firepower at them. Normally, this would never have even occurred, but as they were all tired, and in the 'going home' frame of mind, they were caught out.

Ten minutes after being cuffed, they were allowed up. They were escorted into the 'paddy wagon,' which then sat there for what felt like a long time.

Casey was gently releasing a steady monologue of certain NSA and CIA agents' ancestral lineage, some of which involved a very broadminded interpretation of interspecies relationships.

Chuck zoned out after a bit, but the words 'spleen' and 'penguin' did seem to occur with a higher frequency than the laws of average would lead one to expect. Part of Chuck wondered if Casey had read the _Bloom County_ comic strip when he was younger….. Nah.

Sarah kept quiet. Chuck thought he knew that face she was making but couldn't quite place it.

The door to the paddy wagon opened up. There was a tall, slim woman standing backlit in the door.

When she saw the contents of the wagon, she smiled broadly, and climbed inside.

"Hi Chucky! Sarah! What are you guys doing here?" after a pause, she lowered her voice, adding a sultry "Hi, John…."

The trio of spies said the same name, in tones ranging from;

1. Outright surprise (Chuck).

2. Pleased, tinged with a hint of humour (Sarah). And,

3. Dread.

"Carina!"

"Now, let's see, something about flying under radar, no radio, no flight plans, or transponder, transporting military weapons across international waters and, oooh, no passports. Did you think we didn't notice? Maybe we should keep the cuffs on the big guy. I understand he's _very_ naughty."

She left to smooth things over with the police and drug agency.

When she returned, Carina was holding Casey's AR. She held it higher, waggling it a little. "Ooh, John…what a _big…_weapon…..you have…."

Casey's expression was that of a person who has had the hint of a suspicion that the light at the end of the tunnel just might be diesel powered.

Carina organised for the trio to be released, and borrowed the paddy wagon to return them to the villa.

As the rich and powerful were watching them get out of the back of the wagon, Carina was having the time of her life.

She gleefully pointed out that "A good night out involves coming home with a traffic cone. A _great_ night out means you get dropped off by the cops."

* * *

That evening, the trio assembled for a report to Beckman.

Chuck wasn't quite certain, but he felt sure he saw the corners of her mouth twitch a little when the bit about the bricks hove into view.

After winding up the loose ends, General Beckman had one final item to discuss.

"Colonel Casey, perhaps you can explain this item that is gaining a certain …..popularity on, what is it? You tube?" she _definitely_ twitched the corners of her mouth this time.

A video clip opened up. It showed a folk singer strumming a guitar, singing in Spanish. The lower half of the Mitchell, still on the beach, was visible in the back ground.

Beckman's voice overrode the sound of the clip. "My analysts inform me the song is called 'A man called Juan' and refers to him as 'The Angel of Liberty.'"

After the General hung up, Carina stepped back into the room, and suggested that they look it up.

Oh, and maybe get some wine too.

* * *

**A.N. **This has been great fun to write. Thank you so much for letting me have some fun here. This one story has had more reviews and alerts than _everything_ else I've posted.

Cheers. John.

November/December 2010.


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